


All We Have

by ej3467273



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Rhaegar won, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 09:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11780430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ej3467273/pseuds/ej3467273
Summary: Rhaegar won on the Trident and now must piece his realm back together once more. Just because he won doesn't mean that he will have an easy time. His wife is dead, his lover is dead, and he must deal with the consequences of this.AU: Rhaegar Lives, Lyanna is dead, etc.





	1. The King of Lies

 

Rhaegar looked at the castle of Storm’s End. Even after enduring a year under siege, suffering punishing bombardments from trebuchets and sapping, the citadel was still as pristine as ever, the walls slightly blackened. 

_ An armored fist standing in defiance to me and the Gods,  _ Rhaegar mused. The black stag of Baratheon still flew proudly over the ramparts, signifying their faith to their lord. Robert Baratheon might be dead, but his younger brother still carried on the war.

“We’ve attacked him four times since the Trident, Your Grace,” Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South had said to him when he arrived in the Reach’s camp. “He’s thrown us back every single time. I’ve lost a thousand men in the past week, more than I’ve lost in the last  _ year.  _ His men should be starving and yet the boy lord continues to resist!”

“A brave boy lord, one who has an iron will,” Rhaegar replied, continuing to observe the castle where Aegon Targaryen’s bastard half-brother had ruled over.  _ Blood of my blood.  _ “I want to parlay.”

“Parlay Your Grace? We can sit here and starve them out,” Mace insisted. “He’s close to breaking, I’m sure of it!”

“The war is over Lord Tyrell,” Rhaegar said, sounding older than his twenty-four name-days. His chest still hurt from the duel with Robert on the banks of the Trident.  _ I’m a kinslayer. Slaying my cousin.  _ “Lord Stannis will surrender. But he will not surrender to you, I suspect.”

Rhaegar kicked his horse, heading to the outskirts of the camp, trailed by Ser Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard. Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Jaime Lannister,  and Ser Oswell Whent were guarding the royal family (what remained of them since the death of the king and his wife) in King’s Landing. He would have to find replacements; Ser Gerold Hightower was dead, slain by a trident spear, Prince Lewyn and Ser Jonothor Dayne, dead at the Trident.

“Ser Barristan, send word to Lord Stannis that I want to parlay,” Rhaegar ordered, the knight having recovered from his wounds on the Trident.  _ A dead cousin, a dead wife, a dead lover, a dead child.  _ “I suspect that he wants to talk as well.”

The banner of House Targaryen followed him, his standard being bared for all the world to see. The king had come to end the siege and everyone knew it. He had brought a scant thousand men, all veterans of the Trident, lead by Ser Raymun Darry. Banners flapped everywhere. The black plowman of Darry, the twin black warhammers of Rykker, and the golden lion of Lannister.

The grounds in front of the walls of Storm’s End were littered with dead. A thousand men, Lord Tyrell had said he had lost in the last week, and it seemed he was right. Arrows were embedded in the soft dirt and flesh, the smell of decaying bodies and shit was everywhere, and boiling oil had been used more than once. Rams, siege towers, and ladders laid abandoned in the field.  _ A sorry state. _

The ramparts of Storm’s End was barely inhabited, with a few men in boiled leather and chainmail holding vigilance. He could see the hatred in their eyes as he gazed at them. Ser Barristan had come back, galloping close to him.

“Lord Stannis has sent word that he will speak with you. However, only you and no Reachmen can accompany you. He will meet you at the drawbridge with a guard,” Ser Barristan relayed to him. “He has allowed that you can have a guard as well.”

“Have Ser Darry, along with yourself accompany me. You will be all I need,” Rhaegar decided and Ser Barristan bowed.  _ My madness led to this war. My sword killed Robert Baratheon. My actions killed my lover. My family killed my wife. _

“Are you sure about this Your Grace?” Lord Randyll Tarly had asked him. The man who commanded Mace Tyrell’s van was a harsh man who wielded the Valyrian steel sword Heartsbane. His first son, a boy his wife named Samwell had been born just a few short months ago but he was still determined to fight in this war.  _ At least you have a child who survived this war.  _ “We could lose you if Stannis pulls a trick and captures you.”

“Lord Stannis followed his brother into war, but I heard unwillingly,” Rhaegar reminded him. “He is an honorable man, a man who does his duty. I still remember him from his last court visit all those years ago. A sullen boy then, most likely more sullen now.”

“War changes people.”  _ Aye, it does Lord Tarly.  _ He once had dreams of bettering the kingdoms, with talks of prophecies and the three-headed dragon.  _ Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. _

_ Promise me, Rhaegar,  _ his wife had said to him before he had left King’s Landing.  _ Promise me that you will return.  _ He had kept that promise. His wife had died anyway.

_ Burn them all. Burn them all.  _ The madness he saw in his father’s eyes should have told he would have done something stupid. The accusatory glint in Oberyn Martell’s glare was all he needed to feel even more guilty.  _ She’ll be buried in the mountains of Dorne. It’s the least I could do. _

He approached the drawbridge to Storm’s End under the ire of the crossbows currently aimed at him. He still wore his black armor, dents and all, though the rubies had all been lost.  _ Rubies are unnecessary. At least Robert smashed them into the Trident.  _ Only Ser Barristan was behind him, the rest of the party remaining at the outskirts of the besieging army’s camp.

The cranks to the drawbridge were opening, no doubt strained by the fact that they had not been opened in well over a year. He could see the courtyard of Storm’s End behind two men, one of whom had to be Lord Stannis and the other an unknown.

“Presenting Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, First of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm,” Ser Barristan shouted and the royal banner flapped in the wind as if backing up his king.

One of the men, an ordinary man whose face had been weathered by the elements with a brown beard, a full head of brown hair, and a pouch around his neck, stepped forward. It had been ages since he had last seen Stannis, but this wasn’t him.

“This is Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End.”

The other man, with thinning black hair and hatred in his blue eyes, started to ground his teeth. Rhaegar wanted to laugh but chose not to.  _ He’s hungry. _

“Do we have permission to enter the castle?” Ser Barristan asked. Stannis looked at them with narrow eyes but nodded his approval. Rhaegar and Barristan trotted forward on their horses and the drawbridge of Storm’s End closed behind them.

There were few men left in Storm’s End. The few that were remaining were old men, injured men, and green boys. Yet the green boys looked like they’ve seen combat, with the way they held their pikes and halberds, while the few knights who lingered had their hands on their swords, untrusting of the silver-haired king.

The courtyard was filled with starving children and women, having their midday meals. It was small, only an onion broth with salt beef.  _ These are the people who have been holding off the might of the Reach. A starving lord, a starving garrison, and starving children. _

_ “ _ Your grace,” Stannis said finally. “Where would you like to talk? My solar? I would offer you bread and salt, but onion stew is all we have left. We ran out of bread six months ago.”

“Your solar is fine,” Rhaegar said, distracted by the starvation and the hunger he saw.  _ My fault. My fault.  _ “And please, you don’t have to feed me. Your word is good enough for me.”

That brought a dark look to Stannis’s face. “As you say, your grace.”

_ Stop calling me that,  _ he thought. He had won his crown at the expense of his dead father and wife.

He followed Stannis past the starving children, up to a staircase, and soon they were in the main tower of Storm’s End. The halls were silent, as silent as death itself.  _ Aerys didn’t die silently. He and my wife screamed for days as the wildfire engulfed them.  _ The air was cool, despite the stench of death that lingered just beyond the walls. 

Stannis’s solar was sparsely decorated, with a few bookshelves lined with books and a solid oak desk. The banner of his house was hanging on the wall, along with a few tapestries denoting their family legacy.  _ Orys Baratheon to Stannis Baratheon.  _

“Please take a seat, your grace. No doubt the journey has been taxing,” Stannis offered and Rhaegar took a seat as Stannis poured some water for them. “I would offer you wine, but Robert took most of it when he left Storm’s End and a trebuchet hit smashed the remainder. Not that we would have any need for wine.”

Ser Barristan and the unknown man lingered outside the solar, as instructed by Stannis. This was a one on one meeting between the two. A meeting to end the war. 

“My lord,” Rhaegar began. The words couldn’t come to him.  _ I am the king and I must end this conflict.  _ “The war is over. The rebels, your brother, have been smashed on the Trident and everyone else has surrendered. Everyone but you.”

Stannis stiffened, sitting up straighter in his chair. He scowled harshly and Rhaegar almost regretted his words. 

“When my brother sent word that he was going to meet you on the Trident, I sent a raven back telling him to be cautious of Lord Tywin. He may have won this ‘Battle of the Bells’ as those damned singers like to say, but he was too overconfident that he would beat you,” Stannis said darkly. He took a sip of his water, the flesh on his body not enough to hide the bones jutting out from underneath.  _ He’s so skinny.  _ “My brother is dead and I am Lord of Storm’s End and as long as I am alive, the war is not over. But there is no point, is there? Robert is dead and so is the rebellion.”

Stannis then stood up, looking out of his solar towards Shipbreaker Bay. Even then, they could both see the ships of the Redwyne fleet prowling, eager to take any suspecting ships that did not share their loyalties. 

“First we ate the horses. We weren’t riding anywhere, so fine the horses. Then we ate the dogs. I like dogs. They’re loyal beasts, but we ate them. Then the cats. Never liked cats, so fine the cats,” Stannis spoke, contempt deep in his voice. Rhaegar understood. A man under siege for a year. “Then we ate the rats. My brother was so weak, I thought he would die. Turns out I was half-right, as my elder brother died on the Trident. My garrison would have eaten our own dead if not been for Ser Davos and his little black boat.”

_ Ser Davos?  _ He didn’t know much about the Stormlands, but he had never heard of a knight called Ser Davos. Stannis could see the confusion on his face.

  
“The man who accompanied me. I knighted him for his actions in saving the castle from starvation,” Stannis revealed and Rhaegar nodded. The man was brave for braving the stormy and choppy seas of Shipbreaker Bay. “He was also a smuggler. I cut off his finger joints on his left hand with a cleaver. My lord father taught me that a good act does not wash out the bad.”  _ A man of laws and duty. “ _ Nor a bad the good.”

“You’ve suffered much Lord Stannis and yet you still defy me. What will it take to make you dip your banners and surrender?” Rhaegar demanded.  _ This war can be over now. Kill him,  _ a madness sprung from his mind, the same madness that made him spirit Lyanna from Winterfell with the help of Ser Arthur Dayne. 

“Your presence is good enough, your grace. I will never dip my banners to a Tyrell, no matter what. They besieged me for an entire year and then decide to assault my walls? I lost two hundred men defending my walls from Tyrell’s attacks in the past week,” Stannis frowned, taking another deep drink from his cup. “He could have attacked before we ate the horses, but no, he was more intent on attacking the feasting table than us.”

The way that Stannis spoke with disdain about Mace Tyrell was not lost on Rhaegar. Truth be told, Rhaegar didn’t like Mace Tyrell either.  _ He sits on his arse the entire war and then decides to kill more when the main fight is over.  _ Oh, the Lord of Highgarden loved to boast about beating Robert at the Battle of Ashford, but all men knew that had been Lord Tarly. 

“So you will surrender to me?” Rhaegar asked, perplexed.  _ It was that easy?  _

“Yes. There is no need for continued fighting. Robert is dead and you are king. I am yours to command your grace. No doubt you will send me to the Wall and take Renly as a hostage.”

_ No.  _ The Baratheons had suffered enough due to his family.  _ Steffon Baratheon, who died fulfilling my father’s orders to find me a bride. Robert Baratheon, who died because of my actions.  _

“I will not send you to the Wall Lord Stannis if you swear an oath of loyalty and bend the knee,” Rhaegar said. “I will take Renly as a hostage, however.” That pained both of them. Renly was an innocent in this regard, but there still had to be a price to pay for Stannis’s actions. “You will lose some lands, but you will retain the vast majority of it. And you will remain Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, with the exception of the Conningtons.”

“And where will Renly be sent? Dorne? King’s Landing? The Reach? The Westerlands?” Stannis demanded, anger flooding into his voice before he reigned it back.  _ Ours is the fury.  _

_ It has to be Highgarden. As much as I hate to do it, Mace Tyrell must be rewarded for his loyalty somehow.  _ And what better than a hostage? 

“Highgarden.”

Stannis’s lips twisted into a frown once more. “A reward for the flowers who ransacked my towns and besieged my castle. How appropriate. Digging their roots into my only sibling left.”

_ Growing strong. I’m sorry Stannis.  _

“Yes.”

“It matters not. You are the king and we all serve you.”  _ Except when you rose in rebellion for my actions.  _ “I have one request, however.”

‘And what is that?”

“That Renly never forgets where he came from. He is a Baratheon of Storm’s End. And that he never forgets what the Tyrells did. Forgiven, maybe, in time. But never forgotten.”

“Of course.”

“Shall I bend the knee here or wait till King’s Landing?”

“Here is fine.”

So Stannis bent the knee and was proclaimed to be Lord of Storm’s End. The war was finally over. Rhaegar hoped that no war would ever sprout ever again.  _ If wishes were horses. For a want of a girl, I destroyed my kingdoms.  _

He would have to piece it back together. 


	2. Aftermath

**The Guilty Lord**

The pitter-patter of tiny feet in his bedroom woke him. The balding lord looked to his left, his hand reflexively moving to his dagger placed under his pillow. There, he saw was the little girl.  _ Mya. Robert’s daughter.  _ He relaxed, though only slightly. 

He saw Robert in her. His laughter, his strong willed nature, and his boisterous strength. A little three-year-old who had been dumped onto Storm’s End doorstep with a note proclaiming her to be Robert’s daughter.

He hadn’t believed at first until he looked into her eyes.  _ Blue. Baratheon blue and coal black hair. _ This was Robert’s daughter and without a word, took her in.  _ Two months since I surrendered to Rhaegar and swore my fealty to him. Two months since they took Renly from me. Two months since they finally allowed food to come in.  _

The siege had ended, that was true. All around the Stormlands, men were returning. Thousands of wounded, thousands of bodies, returning to recover and to be buried. Robert’s body hadn’t been found and it took all of Stannis’s willpower to not rage at Rhaegar.  _ He might have been a lout, but he was my brother. He deserved a proper burial. My elder brother, who I sacrificed my honor for.   _

“Uncle Stanny?” She asked, her voice a deadly whisper.  _ Stannis,  _ he wanted to say,  _ my name is Stannis,  _ but the girl was three and Cressen had advised it would take some time for her to fully grasp his name.  _ She’s three years old, not an infant,  _ Stannis had argued with the old fool, but Cressen had just said to give it time and to care for the little girl. Stannis had refused to argue further, allowing the little girl to continue.  _ But,  _ he warned,  _ she will call me Uncle Stannis by her fourth-name day.  _

Whenever that was. 

“What is it Mya?” He asked, letting go of his dagger. Mya slept in a room near him, guarded by Ser Richard Horpe, a man he had recently made into a knight. The boy was fifteen and had a lust for battle, but he had distinguished himself in the siege. Stannis would have scolded the boy for letting Mya out of her room at night, but he decided to let it go. He would allow Ser Cortnay Penrose, his master at arms, deal with it in the morn. 

“I had a bad dream. Of dragons and of wolves,” she said sleepily. Stannis rubbed his eyes, looking at the little girl with the black hair and the Baratheon eyes.

“Dreams are just that. Dreams,” he said gruffly, hoping to end it there. But little Mya refused to let the matter go.  

“But Maester Cressen says dreams are important! Because they are the windows to our future!” She argued fiercely, before stifling a yawn.  _ Cressen, telling Mya stories about dreams again? _

“Dreams are nothing more than your imagination. They have no bearing on our future,” he said, sighing.  _ What am I to say? I was raised by a Maester and made a lord by my brother’s murderer. My words mean little to a three-year-old.  _ Renly was evidence of that. 

“Do you know want to know what happened in my dream?” She asked sweetly, her blue eyes sparkling in the dim light of the torch burning in his room. He wanted to say no, but then remembered Cressen’s words.  _ You were the same, always asking questions and wanting to tell stories when you were her age. Be patient with the young girl, like you were patient with your brother during the siege.  _

“Tell me then,” he ordered and her eyes, those innocent eyes, widened. He could see Robert’s fury in those eyes. 

_ You are truly Robert’s daughter.  _

“I saw a big black dragon. Three headed. And a man with silver hair say there must be three. Three there must be for the prophecy! Then a man with a hammer came in, smashing in two of the heads. He roared like a bear, but then saw the third head. He dropped his hammer and cried before running away,” Mya started, almost singing like a tavern singer. Her voice had always been pleasant, remembering her singing before bedtime.  _ Talented for a child.  _

“And then, I saw a blue flower. A blue flower that started to grow up so high and it was so pretty! But then a white wolf appeared, red eyes. Eyes as red as a rose before he disappeared! And then another wolf appeared, with a body of a man!” And then her eyes grew even wider than before. “And then a red dragon appeared and killed the wolf-man. I started to scream and that’s when I woke up Uncle Stanny.” 

_ A black dragon with three heads. A man with a hammer who smashed two of the heads? A third head? What is this girl been dreaming about?  _ Dreams were indeed strange. He dreamed of dragons, once as a child. But no longer. He was a lord, in charge of Storm’s End and the Stormlands. 

“It was just a dream, Mya. Go back to sleep,” he finally said, trying to keep his doubt out of his voice. 

“Can I sleep here with you?” She asked.  _ No. _

_ “ _ You must return to your own bed. That is why it is yours,” he said, his gruffness coming back. She looked at him, those wide innocent eyes.  _ Robert’s eyes.  _ Eyes that accused him of abandonment. 

“But uncle, I’m scared!” She protested. Stannis balked.  _ She is not my daughter. She is the base born daughter of my older brother.  _ The eyes pierced into his soul once more. 

Then Cressen’s words came drifting back in. Stannis started to grind his teeth, his eyes narrowing at the little girl before him. 

“Fine, but only for this night. You are not an infant, but a growing child. And you have your own bed,” he relented. The little niece of his squealed with delight before climbing in, snuggling next to his lean frame.  _ I held Storm’s End for Robert. Blood or honor, I asked myself. I chose blood, starving with Renly. Robert chose love and died for it on the Trident. _

_ Robert fought valiantly, Robert fought nobly, Robert fought honorably. And Robert died.   _

“Thank you, Uncle Stanny!” She said with glee before promptly falling asleep.  _ Tired. I’m so tired.  _ And with that, he pulled his blanket over the both of them and fell into a deep slumber. 

_ There he was, standing in a field of white. Snow fell around him. A forest loomed in the distance, trees tall and proud. STANNIS! STANNIS! STANNIS! Men shouted, unfurling banners of gold and black, the crowned stag waving in the swift wind.  _

_ A sword, burning with fire, was in his hand. Blue fire, red fire, yellow fire, the colors of the rainbow danced in the flames of his sword. LIGHTBRINGER! LIGHTBRINGER! LIGHTBRINGER! Men chanted. He held his sword up high and they yelled with loyalty in their lungs.  _

_ Then it was wiped away, red priestess and a dragon keep suddenly appeared, the forest and the men disappearing. A beach with burning effigies and he recognized them. Th _ _ e Father. The Mother. The Crone. The Warrior. The Smith. The Maiden. The Stranger. All burning in the night’s sky, the smoke reaching the heavens where the Gods wept. _

_ “You are the chosen one, you are the one who will defeat the Great Other. For you are the Prince who was Promised!” She proclaimed, her red hair spinning with madness. He then his sword up high again, but this time, instead of men ringing their loyalty, it was figures, as white as snow and with swords as cold as ice. DEATH! DEATH! DEATH! They repeated.You are death!  _

_ And then he saw Robert, stumbling with a sword wound to his chest. “Where were you?” He shouted with madness, “Where were you when I needed you Stannis? When Father needed you? When Mother needed you?”  _

_ Storm’s End, Stannis said, though his voice was hoarse and his throat was burning. “You told me to hold Storm’s End and I did. With five hundred men I held Storm’s End while you warred and whored around Westeros!” His voice became a shout.  _

_ “I needed you Stannis. And you abandoned me for the king who killed your brother!” _

Stannis woke with a sweat running down his back. Mya was still asleep, the little girl curled in a corner next to the wall where it met the bed. He looked at her and saw Robert again. He scooped the girl up in his arms and carried her to her room, where Ser Richard Horpe was dozing on his feet. The fifteen-year-old boy had a battle scar of when the Tyrells attempted to storm the castle, a long jagged line that stretched from his cheek to his eye. 

“Ser Horpe.”

The knight startled, went to his sword, before he saw the little girl he was sworn to protect and the lord who now commanded the castle. 

“My lord!” The boy answered before he was presented with Mya. 

“Ensure that the Septa and the Maester continue with her lessons after she wakes. And present yourself to Ser Penrose in the training yard for sparring. With him.” 

“Yes my lord!” He said, his voice retreating, the girl still resting in his arms. 

Stannis nodded before leaving, heading to his solar. Cressen was already there when he arrived, tending to his ravens. 

“My lord, we have a raven from His Grace,” Cressen announced as Stannis walked in. Stannis started to grind his teeth.  _ What does the King want now?  _

“Open it,” he ordered and without a word, Cressen broke the seal. The black dragon of House Targaryen snarled at him as Cressen handed him the letter from the king who killed his brother and took away his other one.

_ To Lord Stannis of House Baratheon, Lord of Storm’s End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands _

_ It is my misfortune and sadness to tell you that Queen Rhaella has died from childbirth. The funeral for her will be held in a moon’s turn and I invite you to attend it, for despite the animosity between us, you are family. I would also extend this to meet another cousin of yours.  _

_ Daenerys Stormborn, my new sister.  _

_ And we must speak of the bride to be. Your bride to be. To further strengthen the bonds between the Baratheons and the Crown. _

_ Lord Tyrell has offered his sister Janna Tyrell. The Florents have offered Selyse Florent. Others have brought forth potential brides.  _

_ And then there are personal matters. Lord Tyrell writes that Renly is getting along fine, though he misses you greatly. He has recovered from the siege and is growing quickly. He has become fast friends with the older Tyrell brothers.  _

_ I await your arrival with a heavy heart.  _

_ Your King, _

_ King Rhaegar the First of his Name  of the House Targaryen, King of the  _ _ Andals _ _ , the Rhoynar, and the First Men _ ,  _ Lord of the Seven Kingdoms _ ,  _ Protector of the Realm _

“What does it say, my lord?” Cressen asked, his hand going to his beard. The old Maester was sitting in a chair, reading from a book. 

“The King’s mother has died from childbirth. I am to attend her funeral. And I will speak with him on my marriage arrangements.” 

“Who are the potential brides?” 

“Lady Janna of House Tyrell and Lady Selyse of House Florent. Both Houses who sieged my castle while their liege lord sieged the banquet hall. Intertwine our houses, in order to ensure that House Baratheon never rises up again,” Stannis said with a bitterness, before looking at Cressen. “Go summon Ser Davos. I have a need for him. And Ser Penrose as well.”

“As you command my lord,” Cressen said, bowing before leaving the solar. 

Stannis’s mind drifted to Ser Davos. He had made him a knight, granting him lands in Cape Wrath to raise his family. He had also taken the finger joints from his left hand. Cressen had asked to grant him mercy, but Stannis remembered the words of his father. 

_ A good act does not wash out the bad nor the bad the good.  _ Stannis decided to take the finger joints, for Davos had smuggled, breaking the law.  _ Laws must be made of iron, otherwise, they are nothing but wind.  _ Davos had readily agreed, only asking that Stannis swung the cleaver himself. 

And so he did. The cleaver had cleanly struck off the fingers and Davos wore then in a leather pouch around his neck. 

_ Strange man. But that man saved my castle from starvation. Saved my family from starvation.  _

And with that, he sat down. And started to write a letter to Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Mya’s future was in his hands. He would not fail his brother in this regard. 

**THE GRIFFEN LORD**

 

King's Landing was a maddening place. If it wasn't for the shit smell, the rampant disease, the crappy sewage, it was the horrible organization of the city. Mazes upon mazes of shitty streets, mazes of mazes of cannibals. Oh,  _ sure,  _ they weren't cannibals, but bodies didn't disappear by themselves. He and his retinue continued on foot towards the Red Keep. The city was still in a state of shock as the King had died recently, the heir returning just weeks ago after being granted the surrender of Storm’s End and being crowned.  _ Wildfire. Bullshit. But good for the realm. Rhaegar is the king we need, not Aerys. _

When Jon had received word to rally his army and reinforce King's Landing, he had no intention of obeying the order. He was going to move against Robert and smash him, just like how Robert had smashed the Stormlords who had decided to remain loyal to the rightful king. Instead, he had marched twelve thousand men and pursued after Robert. That was when he ran into the Northern lords under Eddard Stark.  _ The damn crafty bastard. _

The two armies had met in battle. Sixteen thousand screaming Northerners versus his levies plus levies formed from Crownlands and the Reach. He had been intending on smashing Robert, but instead, he had been smashed instead. Eight thousand men died that day and he had hightailed it back to King's Landing with his tail between his legs. He had fallen into a pincer movement, charging in the middle and then watching as his flanks were enveloped. He and the majority of his army managed to escape when they punched right out, but it was still a sobering lesson.

_ Don't rush in.  _ Aerys had banished him.  _ You will die out in the East. You have failed me.  _ Those words burned in him.  _ Never again.  _ He promised himself that he would never again fall for that trick.  _ Never again. _

"My lord...we are here," one of his knights told him. He looked up to see the imposing gates of the Red Keep, the dragon of House Targaryen flapping in the afternoon breeze.  _ Fire and blood. That is the history of House Targaryen. Flip a coin, the old king said, and you either have madness, like Aerys, or greatness, like Aegon the Conqueror.  _ He looked to see a household guard of his shout for someone to open the gate.  _ Or in the case of Rhaegar, a mixture of the two. _

Lord Tywin was back in Casterly Rock and for that Jon was grateful. He couldn't stand the man, but then again, he had to admit that Tywin had saved all of their collective asses. The Battle of the Trident had swung in their favor when the Lannister army smashed into the rebel flank, overrunning the Starks and allowing for Rhaegar enough time to kill Robert. Or so he was told.

The Red Keep was still smelled of smoke and fire, though the air was much cleaner than the last time had been here. Aerys had threatened to burn him with wildfire, but then he lapsed into some kind of trance, allowing for Jon to pack his things and leave without being harmed. He had spent a month in Braavos, waiting and watching for news of the war. When he had heard Rhaegar had won on the Trident, he left for King's Landing. Two months of heavy sailing and pirate attacks. 

When he had landed in Dragonstone, he had witnessed the birth of his King’s youngest sister and the death of a queen. A storm raged, burning the Dragonstone fleet to timbers. He had delivered the news of the Queen’s death to Rhaegar.  _ One more dagger.  _ Rhaegar, his siblings, and his children were the last Targaryens left.

He walked into the Red Keep, watching as various guardsmen trained. The household guard of the Martells was gone, the sun and spear having departed after the Princess’s death at the hands of King Aerys and his wildfire.  _ Gods damn that man.  _ The Martells were refusing to speak with Rhaegar. The Tyrell armies were marching back home but were poised to invade in case that the Martells ever decided to strike against the realm.   _ I guess Mace sitting on his ass was good for something.  _

Tens of thousands were dead. That was the stark truth. Crops were not going to be cultivated and people were going to starve. The Reach and the Riverlands would be overtaxed in feeding the rest of the Westeros.  _ At least Tywin didn’t burn down the Riverlands.  _

“Lord Jon Connington of Griffin’s Roost!” a herald cried out, introducing him as he entered the main hall. Rhaegar, his silver king, was perched on the Iron Throne, his crown weighing heavily on him. Besides him stood Varys, the Master of Whisperers, a balding eunuch who had served Aerys for years.  _ Don’t trust that bastard.  _ In the corner sulked Benjen Stark, the youngest of the Stark brothers, a hostage for his brother’s rebellion. And of course, Jon Arryn stood proudly, the falcon of House Arryn shining. Named as Master of Laws, the old lord was a stout and tall man. But there were two vacancies on the Small Council. Master of Coin, who many people thought would go to a Tyrell or Lannister, and Master of Ships. 

Jon kneeled before his king. 

“Rise,” Rhaegar ordered, looking down at him with amused eyes. Jon smirked, as the two tired of such formalities. 

“Thank you, your grace,” Jon said, struggling to keep the laughter out of his voice as he addressed his old friend. But he also saw the sadness in the king’s purple eyes.  _ Still grieving for the death of his wife.  _ And then he remembered. 

The war that didn’t need to be waged. The war that had been waged because his stupid friend believed in an age old prophecy that led to the deaths of thousands. The death of a king. The death of a princess.  _ Death everywhere.  _

The court session finished, with Rhaegar hearing how the Alchemist Guild needed more funding (because helping a king burn to death was taxing on your treasury), the Gold Cloaks needed more men in order to deal with rising crime (a novel idea, Jon wanted to quip), and a petition to allow the reestablishment of the Warrior’s Sons and Poor Fellows (of course re-establishing murderous religious orders was needed in this day and age.) 

Connington followed the Small Council, Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Jaime Lannister following behind, to a side room in the Great Hall where they held their meetings. As Hand of the King, he was the second most powerful man in that room, though a sword or arrow wouldn’t make that distinction. 

Rhaegar took his seat at the head of the table, followed by Connington next to him. Varys sat across from him, while Arryn sat to his left. Grand Maester Pycelle took a seat next to Arryn. The two Kingsguard knights took positions next to Rhaegar, while Barristan the Bold, having recovered from his injuries at the Battle of the Trident, guarded the entrance to the room. 

“We all know why I called this meeting. We need a Master of Coin and Master of Ships. With the previous Masters being burnt to death in my father’s mad escapees, what are your suggestions?” Rhaegar asked, getting down to business. His purple irises panned from Jon to Varys, before locking in on Jon Arryn. 

“Ser Kevan Lannister or Lord Tywin would make an excellent Master of Coin, though I’d say Lord Tywin is angry you didn’t offer him to be Hand of the King and by keeping his son as part of the Kingsguard,” Varys started in his haughty way, his bald head turning towards Jon.  _ Go fuck yourself, eunuch. _

“It matters not. Lord Tywin will not be Hand of the King and Ser Jaime refused to be released from the Kingsguard. However, Ser Kevan can make an excellent Master of Coin. Send a raven to Casterly Rock, Grand Maester Pycelle, with my offer. What about Master of Ships?” Rhaegar said, pouring wine into a goblet. The red liquid was poured perfectly into the goblet and settled easily. He swished it and Jon wanted to drink some. 

_ “ _ I believe Your Grace, before we go forth, we must speak of one issue.” Jon Arryn started. The former rebel was the outcast on the Small Council, having directly faced him in battle. The lord looked at the king with indifferent eyes, which made Jon want to know what in the Seven Hells the man was thinking. 

“And what is that Lord Arryn?” Rhaegar asked, his voice filled with steel as he stopped pouring his wine. Setting down goblet, he looked at Arryn with eyes full of fire. 

“Your wife. A king must be married and your wife, the Seven bless her, is dead. Aegon and Rhaenys cannot be the last Targaryens,” Arryn started, forcefulness coming through, “The Targaryen dynasty must be secured. You must rewed for better or for worse.” 

_ Remarried? Why in the Seven Hells should Rhaegar remarry? He just lost a wife and a child. He doesn’t need to remarry. By the Warrior, he should still be grieving for Elia, even if I didn’t like the snake.  _

“And who do you think I should marry? Some Northerner? Some Riverlands girl? Some Arryn lass? I have a brother and a sister and two children to carry on the legacy of the Targaryens. I don’t need more,” Rhaegar stated angrily, making Jon fear that he would get violent. He could see the three Kingsguard knights ready to spring into action, their hands on their swords and brisking for action. 

“No. Lord Tywin has already been slighted because you named Connington as Hand of the King. However, his daughter Cersei remains unmarried. Joining together in marriage with her will more than patch your relations with the Lannisters. Naming Ser Kevan to the Small Council will ensure the Lannisters remain on your side,” Jon Arryn replied and Jon noticed how Ser Jaime slightly move his right hand. In response to what, Jon couldn’t tell. Rhaegar fell silent and Arryn continued. 

“Never since the Dance of Dragons has the Targaryen dynasty been so weak. Despite the new addition, the loss of the Dowager queen and the king, along with the extinction of most of the cadet branches of the Targaryens, means you need more children to carry on your legacy.”

_ Marrying a Lannister? Well, why the devil not. The Lions rescued Rhaegar’s arse on the Trident and maybe Cersei will be enough to sate Tywin’s lust for power and prestige.  _

“Your Grace, if I may, Lord Arryn’s proposal is sound. In one fell swoop, you’ll have the wealth and power of House Lannister behind you. He did save your life and family after all,” Varys reminded Rhaegar, twisting the sword even further. What Jon couldn’t understand was why Arryn had even mentioned this or advised it. It wasn’t that long before when Jon Arryn was looking to overthrow Rhaegar and place Robert’s fat arse on the Iron Throne. 

After what seemed an eternity, Rhaegar spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Gods dammit, I’ll marry the Lannister woman. And I’ll name Ser Kevan to the Small Council. You’re all right damn it, I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t Lord Tywin. My father dishonored him and humiliated him. And now here I am, making up for more sins from him. More sins because of my stupid decisions. Blood begets blood, violence begets violence. In sixteen years will my children be fighting a war for the crown I spilled blood for?” Rhaegar questioned himself and finally giving up. 

Jon looked at him. There were dark bags under his eyes, indicating he hadn’t been sleeping. His eyes darted from him to Varys and then back to Lord Arryn. 

“Your Grace, what about Master of Ships?” Pycelle prodded, clearly wanting to end the meeting on a better note. 

Jon decided to speak up for the first time. Paxter Redwyne was the most powerful lord with any number of ships with nearly a thousand ships, two hundred of them warships. With the Royal Fleet having been decimated in the storms following the birth of the youngest Targaryen, Redwyne was the obvious choice.  _ And it will bring us the Tyrells even more on our side, even if it is through their bannerman. _

“Lord Redwyne would make a good Master of Ships. He has the ships and is the most experienced,” Jon offered, calmly explaining his point of view. “With him on the Small Council, we’ll have a good balance between the Lannisters and the Tyrells.” 

With support from two of the Great Houses, with tentative support from House Arryn and House Martell, Rhaegar’s hold on the Iron Throne was growing more secure. The Starks and the Baratheons were weak and wouldn’t dare rise up with Benjen Stark and Renly Baratheon being held hostage in King’s Landing and Highgarden respectively. _As if Stannis Baratheon would rise up. He’s too dutiful if the whispers are true._

“Fine. Lord Redwyne will be named to the Small Council as Master of Ships,” Rhaegar said, practically waving away the appointment. “I must go see my children. Aegon and Rhaenys have been without their father for long enough.”

Rhaegar adjourned the meeting and headed out quickly. Ser Jaime and Ser Barristan quickly followed while Ser Arthur stayed behind. Jon approached Ser Arthur. The two hadn’t been close but he considered Arthur a friend and felt confident approaching the knight.

“Ser Arthur,” he called out to the Kingsguard, “May I speak with you?”

“Of course Lord Hand.”

“What is going on with the King? He’s been unwell it seems,” Jon cautiously started, probing to see what Arthur’s reaction would be.

“He’s been sick. The death of the Queen and his wife have put a stress on him,” Ser Arthur replied and Jon noticed how he didn’t say  _ King Aerys. “ _ He wishes to spend more time with his children since the death of their mother and grandmother.”

“Ser Arthur, I need you to tell me what is really bothering him. I know Rhaegar. He’s a good man and he’s bounced back. Elia died almost two moons ago. The children barely remember her. Rhaella, while a tragedy, didn’t stir that much of a reaction from him,” Jon countered, remembering how Rhaegar hadn’t mourned for more than a day. “So tell me, in my capacity as Hand of the King and his friend, why is he like this?”

Arthur looked at him squarely in the eyes, his dark blue eyes that shimmered and looked purple, without hesitation.

“I cannot divulge what he has told me Lord Hand.”

_ Bullshit.  _ But Ser Arthur Dayne would take any secret to the grave.

“You have your oaths Ser Arthur and I have mine. Mine was to serve the King in order to govern this realm. With Stannis Baratheon coming within a fortnight for the Dowager Queen’s funeral, we cannot appear weak. The realm is already on an edge. Any weakness we show, our enemies grow stronger,” Jon stated factually, reminding the Sword of the Morning of their precarious state.  _ Enemies everywhere. Even with the death of Aerys and Rhaegar ascending to the throne, our enemies will grow stronger. And we must ready for that day. _

Ser Arthur looked at him again, but this time his eyes burning with fury.

“I will not tell you. He is my king. You are not. My knee bends only for one man and that man is King Rhaegar,” Arthur said and pushed past Jon.  _ The realm will suffer. Don’t rush Jon. Otherwise Rhaegar’s arse on the Iron Throne will mean nothing.  _

Jon was left alone in the room pondering the fate of the realm. And his role in the years to come. _ What of the realm?  _ a Targaryen heir had asked his father long ago.

_ Ensure the dragons live. That is the only thing that matters.  _ Jon saw a suit of armor with the dragon sigil emblazoned.

The only thing that matters. 


	3. King's Landing

**The Onion Knight**

  
Ser Davos. That was his new title. He flexed his fingerless left hand. Lord Stannis didn’t believe in the Seven. Davos did. And the Seven had delivered him to Stannis.

The retinue of forty was heading towards King’s Landing on Stannis’s personal warship,  _ Fury _ . He and his eldest son had been chosen to accompany Lord Stannis and Davos didn’t know why. He was nothing but a lowborn, a man who had decided to supply the garrison. He had lost his knuckle bones on his left hand, something he carried around with him in a leather bag around his neck.

He had spent his time moving his family from Braavos, where he had been based from, to Cape Wrath. Lord Stannis had given him choice lands in the area, and a keep belonging to a dead man. He took the keep and the lands gratefully, settling his family there.

And his eldest son, only eight, was already gaining in skill as a seaman.

 

The high-born lords who had been chosen to go with Stannis, the marcher lords, were respectful enough. Lord Bryen Caron would call him Ser Davos, as he hadn’t chosen a surname yet. Ser Donnel Swann and his younger brother avoided him whenever they could, while Ser Lomas Estermont was friendlier than most. 

Stannis,  _ Lord Stannis,  _ he chastised himself for forgetting about that, had taken Lord Tarth’s daughter as a ward. She was an ugly child, tall and wide, with short straw-gold hair. Davos felt pity but remembered that she was the heir to Evenfall Hall. Low-born knights shouldn’t have pity for higher ladies.

They were heading for King’s Landing, having briefly stopped at Evenfall Hall to pick up Lady Brienne. For two reasons. One, was for the funeral of Queen Rhaella, who had died in childbirth. And a wedding. A royal wedding, that had been arranged quicker than Davos imagined. Then again, he had asked Marya to wed him and they did just that. 

_ There’s a difference between a smuggler marrying the daughter of a carpenter and a king marrying the daughter of the most powerful lord in Westeros.  _

“When are we supposed to be in King’s Landing father?” his son asked. Dale, with brown hair and  brown eyes, was a splitting image of Davos himself. His hands were rough with calluses, evidence that he had been working hard, making Davos’s heart swell with pride.  _ He’ll be a good sailor one day. Who knows, one day, he might even command his own ship.  _

“In a day, if the wind holds,” Davos responded. This was his first time on a warship, an actual warship, that was proper and legal. Usually, he had spent his time  _ avoiding  _ warships like the  _ Fury,  _ but now he was second in command. 

Strange tidings, but King Rhaegar had spoken of building a new order.

“Will it hold?” Dale asked curiously and Davos laughed. His son was growing to be a very smart boy. He would learn to read and write if he had anything to do about it. 

“I can’t say much for the wind my son. But it should if prior experience holds true,” Davos answered truthfully.

“Back when you were a smuggler?” Dale asked innocently. Davos sighed as he saw Ser Donnel Swann look at him with distaste.  _ Onion Knight,  _ Davos swore he heard the man mutter. The Swann made like a swan and left. 

“Back when I was a smuggler. Use to sail my little black sailboat up to the harbor of King’s Landing. But I don’t do that no more son. How are your letters going?” he inquired and the boy sighed. 

“I’m learning them. But they’re so  _ hard.  _ How come you don’t have to learn about letters?” Dale complained and Davos laughed again. 

“I’m your father. I’ve got four of you to worry about right now and now that I’m a knight, I have a keep to run. Your mother is learning how to be a proper lady and as soon as you’re old enough, you’re going to learn how to be a proper knight,” Davos said. Dale looked at him with pleading eyes, but Davos looked at him with the “father” look. 

Dale scampered away, most likely to go and seek out Maester Cressen and Brienne, who he had become fast friends with.  _ My son can see past her looks and so can I,  _ Davos thought.  _ The Seven knows she needs friends.  _

“Ser Davos,” a stern voice called out and Davos looked to see Lord Stannis, cloak and all, step down the stairs onto the main deck of  _ Fury.  _ Davos thought he was at home at sea. Stannis was born to command ships, Davos could tell. He had overseen the creation of the  _ Fury,  _ building the magnificent warship in less than two months.  

_ Hard to believe he’s only eight and ten.  _

“M’lord,” he answered and Stannis stiffened.

“It is my lord, Ser Davos. You’re a knight, talk like one,” Stannis gruffly commanded and Davos wanted to hit himself. 

_ My lord, not m’lord. You’re not some kind of lowborn smuggler anymore. You’re a knight. By the Father and the Warrior, the Mother and the Maiden, the Crone and the Smith, you are a knight!  _ A knight with four less fingers. _Fewer,_ Stannis would grind. 

“Yes, my lord,” he said, emphasizing the words. Stannis grew less rigid, but still, his demeanor was dour. 

“Have you thought about your surname and coat of arms yet?” Stannis asked and Davos shook his head. 

“My son wants it to be something fancy. Three mermaids holding tridents, he says, but I heard Lady Brienne tell him that’s already been taken by House Manderly. But I’m thinking about something else, my lord.”

“Oh? And what is that?” 

“An onion on a black field.”

“And why do you want that as your sigil?”

“People started calling me the Onion Knight after I sailed my little sailboat into Storm’s End. Some mockingly, some with praise. I might as well make it my own. Let no man call me what I don’t call myself.”

“Going to sew that on your coat then? Don’t let me stop you. You’re a loyal man Ser Davos. And loyal men are always needed. You are worthy of it. Coming from the sea in that little black sailboat of yours. Every man on Storm’s End wanted to kiss you that night.”

“I’m relieved they did not,” Davos said happily. He thought back to avoiding the Redwyne patrols, the storms, just to deliver onions and beef to the starving garrison in the dead of night. 

_ I would have lost my head because Stannis lost. But instead, Rhaegar took pity on me and let me keep my title and my lands. Why?  _

“We starved. We starved for an entire year. Just to find out my brother died and his rebellion along with him,” Stannis said. “Our glorious king Rhaegar, the man who I bent the knee to, had killed him on the Trident. Blood or honor.” 

Davos felt subdued.  _ I sailed because I thought Robert would win and I would be rewarded. I was half-right.  _

You’re a loyal man Ser Davos. A very honorable man, despite your prior profession as a smuggler. Worthy of a knighthood and a keep,” Stannis said seriously to Davos. “Don’t let these marcher lords intimidate you.”

And Davos heart burst with gratitude towards his new lord and he knew that he made the right choice in the end. 

And that was when it hit him. A man of the sea who was worthy, in the eyes of this young man, of a keep and a knighthood.

“Seaworth,” he said aloud.

“Pardon Ser Davos?” 

“Seaworth. That’s my surname. Seaworth,” Davos exclaimed and Stannis looked bewildered.  _ Ser Davos Seaworth. And I will take the onion and take it for my sigil. I’m an Onion Knight.  _

“Ser Davos Seaworth. I will ensure that the history books record it,” Stannis promised.  _ Ser Davos Seaworth of Flea’s Bottom, a man who was born to a crabber and rose to be a knight.  _

“Thank you, my lord.”

“A good act does not wash out the bad, nor the bad the good. Though I must thank you for saving us from starvation.”

Surprised, Davos smiled at his liege lord who did not return the gesture. “You’re very welcome my lord. I remember you saying it, but the blood loss from the fingers being cut-off may have messed with my memory.”

“Shall I give you a reminder of that memory?” Stannis asked, grinding his teeth. Davos offered a small smile of apology. 

“My lord, I’d welcome it, but I don’t think my wife would appreciate me only having two thumbs,” he said and Stannis reddened.  _ Why did he redden?  _ He never used his fingers on his wife and  _ oh.  _ He reddened as well. “If I may beg your leave.”

“You have it.”

Stannis fled, a rare thing for the lord to do. Davos knew that the man was uncomfortable around women (with the exception of Davos’s wife, who, beyond his wildest dreams, had become  _ friends  _ with the man who had chopped off her husband's left fingers) but just  _ speaking  _ of women...Stannis was a strange man indeed.

The Redwyne fleet greeted them as they sailed past the Blackwater. The Redwynes had the strongest fleet besides the Greyjoys and had been asked by the king to guard the Narrow Sea as the Targaryen ships had been destroyed in a great storm.  _ A storm that brought the death of the queen and the creation of another Targaryen.  _

The Gods giveth and the gods taketh away. A lesson he had learned with Stannis. He flexed his fingerless left hand. It still bothered him, despite the action taking place moons ago.  _ A fingerless knight.  _ His right hand went to the leather pouch.  _ Luck.  _

They pulled into port, with the City Watch coming to welcome them. It had not been long ago that the only time Davos had interacted with the gold cloaks was when he was running away from them or bribing them. Leading the City Watch was a stout man with a bald pate, built like a keg and wearing the golden cloak as well as the other.

_ Janos Slynt.  _ The last time Davos had seen him, he had bribed the man to look the other way. He was rising in the City Watch it seemed. The son of a butcher and the son of a crabber, making their mark on this world. Whether it was good or bad, only the Gods could answer that question.

“My lords,” Janos greeted, bowing slightly. “Welcome to King’s Landing.”

The marcher lords didn’t like King’s Landing and neither did Stannis. It smelled like shit and well...the city was shit. Davos never liked it here and he  _ grew  _ up in Flea Bottom.  _ That’s why I don’t like it.  _

The marcher lords, the onion knight, and Lord Stannis progressed from the port to the Red Keep. There, they would see their new king and mourn the death of the queen. 

 

**THE LADY OF STARFALL**

 

Ashara Dayne rarely felt anything but anger and shame these last few months. Her daughter, her beautiful daughter, was quiet for the first time, her gray eyes closed. She had almost lost her during a birth, but the arrival of her brother, the Sword of the Morning, had allowed her to persevere. 

Meria Dayne, legitimized by King Rhaegar, the daughter of Brandon Stark. She had fallen in love with the wild wolf of the North and allowed him to take her virtue in Harrenhal. She never regretted the liaison, for it had given her Meria. But it had brought great shame onto her house and greater shame because it had been with a man who was betrothed. Luckily for her, House Stark had rebelled and most forgot her shame.

“Sister,” and she rose to greet her brother. Ser Arthur was her knight in shining armor, her protector, Aemon the Dragonknight reborn. “How is my niece?”

“Sleeping,” she responded, taking a seat next to the cradle. “She is energetic and lively, just like her father.”

Arthur frowned at the mention of Brandon Stark. He never had anything but apathy for the dead heir, having called him a bloody wolf who didn’t know how to keep his vows.  _ The damn wolf who thought Rhaegar slighted his honor by crowning Lyanna the queen of love and beauty while taking my sister’s virtue was his exact words,  _ Ashara thought with some amusement.

“Good,” Arthur gritted out. “Did you hear the news?” 

_ What news?  _ The queen was dead, the king was getting married to Cersei Lannister, and Rhaenys was having nightmares  _ again.  _ She wondered what had happened in the past few hours that would get her brother so riled up.

_ Rhaegar found another woman to fulfill his damn prophecy?  _ “What is the news, brother?”

“Lord Stannis Baratheon has arrived in King’s Landing. He has brought his marcher lords with him, along with an onion knight, if Varys is to be believed,” Arthur said with some disdain. “Robert’s younger brother, a man who held Storm’s End for an entire year. Didn’t give up till Rhaegar himself talked to him.”

_ Stannis?  _ She remembered a sullen and dour man at the Tourney of Harrenhal. He refused to participate in any of the jousting, instead fighting in the melee with his brother. He was a solid swordsman, wielding a longsword while Robert had cracked many skulls with his warhammer. He had been knocked out near the end, having watched Robert’s back the entire time.

_ A loyal man, if a man who is more brooding than even Ned Stark.  _ That same man had held Storm’s End for an entire year, fighting off Reachmen and hunger until King Rhaegar had received his surrender.  _ The only Gods he worshipped were honor and duty,  _ the singers had sung in the taverns when they told the tale of ‘Robert’s Rebellion.’ 

“Is he now? Is he here for the funeral and the royal wedding?” she asked, wanting to know more. What little she knew of Stannis made her rather...intrigued. “And why did he bring the marcher lords?”

“Yes, he’s here for the funeral. Rhaegar told me that Rhaella was Stannis’s family too, despite them being on opposite sides of the war.  The Baratheon lord brought his marcher lords because they are his strongest supporters, loyal to his brother and to him. Arstan Selmy, Donnel Swann, Bryen Caron, even old Lomas Estermont travel with him,” Arthur informed her. “That onion knight was the man who smuggled in food for the garrison during the Siege of Storm’s End. An up jumped smuggler.”

Ashara smiled at her brother. While her brother was a brave man, a smart man, and just and kind, he still believed in rigid hierarchies. Stannis, from what she could gather, was a brave and smart man, like her brother, but he also believed in merit. 

“Stannis sounds like an interesting man,” she simply observed and Arthur grunted with some disdain. She rolled her eyes at her elder brother. “Any other reason he is here?”

Her brother hesitated, torn between his loyalty to his king and his love for his sister. Finally, the man relented.

“I shouldn’t be telling you this...but Rhaegar is arranging Stannis’s marriage. Selyse Florent, Janna Tyrell...most of the prospective brides are from the Reach, in order to tighten the bonds between House Baratheon and the crown.”

_ A marriage?  _ She had seen an uptick in many ladies coming into King’s Landing -Florents, Tyrells, Darrys among them- but she thought that they were coming for the royal wedding. All of them were potential suitors for this Stannis Baratheon, the man who held Storm’s End for an entire year and the leader of the storm lords. 

“Why brother, why shouldn't you tell me? It’s not like I’m going to marry him myself. I am ‘damaged’ as one of the ladies in court so warmingly told me today,” she said with venom in her voice. “I have a daughter to raise.”

“I never insinuated-” and then Arthur’s eyes narrowed and he looked straight into her own. “No. No. Where did the thought of marriage come from?”

Ashara gave him a sly grin.  _ Marriage to one of the most powerful lords of Westeros?  _ She would not think that it would be possible. But she was a Dornish viper, a woman that had low moral standards. How else could she have lured Brandon Stark from his betrothed?  _ He slept with women highborn and low and yet I solely hold the blame for his dalliances.  _ And yet the idea stuck. Still, she had to rake her brother over the coals just a  _ little  _ bit. 

“It came from nowhere because  _ you  _ got that idea,” Ashara retorted, sticking her tongue out at him. “Besides Stannis Baratheon is a bore, I’ve heard. He didn’t dance with anyone at Harrenhal -I know because I saw three different women ask him- and he sat in a castle during Robert’s Rebellion.”

“The man would fight to the end and then some,” Arthur said with some admiration his voice. “He held off Mace Tyrell, Randyll Tarly, and Paxter Redwyne, and almost ate his own dead just to spite them. He killed a thousand Reachmen in the last week of the war.  _ A thousand  _ while starving to death _.”  _

“Sounds like you admire him,” Ashara observed and the Kingsguard knight scoffed. But she could see the tinge of playfulness in Arthur’s eyes and he relented.

“I do. Stannis held Storm’s End for an entire year. Most people would have cracked under the pressure and it speaks well of his leadership abilities that he was able to keep five hundred men from killing him and surrendering the castle to Mace Tyrell. Whatever doubts that the court may have of him, the storm lords have faith in their Lord Paramount. And so do the common man.”

“You’ve been speaking with the smallfolk of the Stormlands now, brother? Another Kingswood Brotherhood expedition?” Ashara quipped and Arthur smiled warmly. 

She had a concern that her brother would have changed momentously since the war began. He had been with Rhaegar when they had spirited away Lyanna Stark from Winterfell and had been with him on the Trident.  _ He watched Robert smash Ser Jonothor Darry and Prince Lewyn Martell with his warhammer and almost kill Rhaegar as well.  _ Three Kingsguard brothers who still needed to be replaced. 

“Seven hells, don’t remind me of that. The Smiling Knight, Wenda the White Fawn...Lewyn and I were concerned when Elia was attacked and Gerold got an arrow through his hand,” Arthur shook his head from the memories. “If I remember correctly, you gave an outlaw a kiss.”

“A peck on the cheek and nothing more,” Ashara said, wagging her finger at her brother. Ulmer had been a dashing rogue, stealing a kiss from both her and Elia (along with Elia’s jewels and a chest of coins) and a master archer. She had begged her brother to spare him and take the black.  _ I wonder how he’s doing at the Wall.  _

There was a knock on the door and Arthur got up from his place next to Ashara. Cautiously, he opened it and a note was passed through. Arthur unfurled it, read it, and frowned deeply.  _ Something that he shares with Stannis if the rumors are true.  _

“What is it?”

“Oberyn Martell has arrived in King’s Landing as well,” Ser Arthur breathed. “He’s come for the queen’s funeral and the royal wedding as his brother’s representative.”

  
_ Well, this is turning out to be quite an eventful time, isn’t it?  _ Just then, Meria started to stir and she turned to her, waving goodbye to her brother. She gently rocked the cradle, trying to shush Meria back to sleep.  _I'm so tired._ But for some reason, her mind turned to Stannis, the dour and humorless man she had once seen years ago in Harrenhal. Meria wasn't calming down, so she took her energetic daughter from her cradle and into her arms, rocking back and forth.

"What does the future hold for us, Meria?" she asked her daughter who had yet to see her first name day, who simply looked back at her with gray eyes and a small smile on her lips. "Back to Starfall? King's Landing?"

Meria put her thumb into her mouth, giggling all the way. And another thought crossed her mind. 

"Storm's End?"


	4. The Bold Knight and the Stag

**THE BOLD KNIGHT**

Ser Barristan the Bold they called him. A man knighted at the age of sixteen, the man who had slain Maelys the Monstrous during the War of Ninepenny Kings. A man who had not been privy to the inner workings of the mind of his king, the silver prince who had started Robert’s Rebellion over a woman. 

_ And lead to the deaths of tens of thousands, three of my brothers, and myself almost dying on the Trident.  _ His shoulder still hurt from where Lyn Corbray’s Lady Forlorn had bit deep into his plate before Barristan had separated Lyn’s head from his shoulders.  _ A good fighter. But not good enough.  _

He stood guard in the Small Council chambers, having been chosen over Ser Jaime and Ser Arthur for this one. Ser Arthur stood outside, while Ser Oswell was guarding the king’s children. Ser Jaime had been visiting his sister, who had recently arrived in the capital for the funeral of Queen Rhaella, distracting himself from the deaths of Aerys and Elia. 

_ He had been the only one here,  _ Barristan reminded himself. Jaime had seen the wildfire and had the scars where he had tried to put out the burning flames, the green death that had licked at his skin.  _ He screams in his sleep sometimes,  _ Barristan thought, picturing Jaime waking in a pool of sweat and regret. 

He had much sympathy for his brother in arms. A young man, a man who some people called the  _ Kingslayer  _ derogatorily because he had lived and his king had died on his watch. Some whispered behind their backs that Jaime had deliberately let the king and princess die so that his sister could become queen.  _ Aegon and Rhaenys are next,  _ rumor mongers would say, flapping their wings as they flew away. 

_ Words are wind,  _ Lord Eddard Stark had said to Rhaegar when the former had emerged from Dorne, his sister’s broken body in his hands and the helm of Ser Gerold Hightower being handed back to the dragon prince. The Tower of Joy had been ripped apart by the northern lord to bury Ser Gerold Hightower, three of his men, and the stillborn child of Lyanna and Rhaegar. 

_ And now Lord Stark broods in the North with his Tully wife, a newborn son, and a bastard,  _ Barristan thought ruefully as the king and the council spoke of Balon Greyjoy, the new Lord Reaper of Pyke.

“I’m telling you, Balon thinks you are weak,” Jon Connington warned. “Give him five or six years and he will rebel. Your hold on the throne is not as stable as you think,  _ your grace.  _ The North, the Vale, the Riverlands, and the Stormlands have no love for you.  _ Stannis  _ might be loyal, but the rest of the storm lords? They loved Robert and if there is an opportunity to avenge his death, they will take it!”

Rhaegar paced the floor, hands behind his back. He had not been sleeping well, Barristan knew, suffering nightmares and fits.  _ Elia? Robert? Aerys? Lyanna?  _ He had nightmares about all of them for the last few moons or so, crying out for one of them or another.

Rhaegar pursed his lips in worry. “The Iron Islands is the only part of the Seven Kingdoms that remained neutral during the rebellion. Why would they risk claiming independence or rebelling if they didn’t do it when the realm was most disunited?”

The Hand of the King rolled his eyes.  _ The king wasn’t the greatest at remembering who Balon Greyjoy was,  _ though Barristan allowed himself to frown at Connington’s action. _ “ _ Quellon Greyjoy was a sensible man. There’s nothing the ironborn could do during the rebellion besides raiding along the Westerlands or up the Mander like times of old and he knew it. But Balon is a whole different kind of man. While Quellon beat his swords into plows and wanted to make the Iron Islands into something resembling a functioning part of the Seven Kingdoms, Balon is reversing his progress.”

“Ah. Quellon Greyjoy, one of the few men my father trusted besides Lord Steffon and Lord Tywin before he left for Casterly Rock,” Rhaegar said. “Before the madness. The man who tried to reform the ironborn. And his son, is more like the reavers of old I am guessing?”

Connington nodded. “Aye. That bastard re-enslaved most of the thralls his father had freed and his longships are back to reaving in the Narrow Sea. He’s got three brothers, mean men. Victarion Greyjoy is the Lord-Captain of this... _ Iron Fleet,  _ they’re building while the other two are accomplished sailors in their own right. He’s driving out the septons and trying to start a religious war against the Seven on his barren islands.”

Rhaegar frowned deeply, his lilac eyes flickering with annoyance. “Balon proclaimed his fealty to me. I cannot accuse the man of something he has not done. I will tell Lord Tywin and Lord Mace to keep a close eye on them. Along with Lord Hoster. They’re the ones most vulnerable if Balon decides to rebel. Seaguard, Lannisport, Oldtown…”

“Aye, Balon can do much damage if he rebels. The ironborn are unparalleled as sailors and Redwyne’s fleet is the only thing that can match him. Except the Redwyne fleet is here because our own navy had been smashed in that storm,” Jon Connington gritted out, reminding Ser Barristan of a certain storm lord. “And most of that fleet is going to stick around considering Paxter Redwyne is our Master of Ships.”

Paxter Redwyne was stooped of shoulder, thin as a needle, and already starting to bald. As Master of Ships and the Lord of the Arbor, he was one of the most important men in the realm. After all, Arbor Gold was rather popular in the Seven Kingdoms, especially among the nobility.

“Your grace, with your permission, I would send half of my fleet back home. My own waters are guarded by only two dozen or so ships and though the Mander is protected by the Shield Islands...it would still do well to send them back,” Paxter Redwyne said. 

The man probably wanted to head back home, whether it was the sea or the Arbor remained to be seen, but Lord Paxter’s youngest child, a daughter, had just been born.  _ Desmera Redwyne.  _ And with that Barristan reminded himself that another high-born lady had a daughter as well. 

_ Ashara.  _ His heart still pounded with regret that he did not win the Tourney at Harrenhal, where Rhaegar had crowned Lyanna Stark as the Queen of Love and Beauty.  _ And now my king has neither a queen nor love or a beauty to behold until he weds Cersei Lannister.  _ Her haunting violet eyes, that shimmering black hair...he almost pinched himself to keep him focused on the meeting at hand instead of dreaming of a woman he could never have.

_ Ser Arthur was discussing how she had talked of Stannis Baratheon. Marrying him.  _ He knew that the sullen man was the opposite of his now dead brother.  _ The melee. How he stuck by Robert’s side.  _ Stannis had lasted far longer than Barristan could have thought before being knocked out by Ser Arthur Dayne. But the boy, who was now the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, had defeated Ser Oswell Whent. Granted, Robert had done most of the work, whirling his warhammer around and battering the Kingsguard knight, but it had been Stannis who had delivered the ‘killing blow.’

“That is granted. You are my Master of Ships and you know the seas better than I ever will,” Rhaegar said. “Lord Varys, what news besides this gods damned fool?”

The balding eunuch grinned and then giggled into his sleeve. Barristan never liked the eunuch, but he was good at his job and most importantly,  _ loyal  _ to the crown. Or so he said. 

“What news do you wish to speak of, your grace? There are whispers that Lord Stannis arranging a betrothal between the bastard daughter of Robert and the bastard son of Ned Stark. Letters have flown back and forth, but my little birds do not know whether Lord Stark will accept or not. Or that the Thirteen have another prophecy of dragons roaming the land in a few years or so. Ooh, there’s a particularly juicy rumor concerning the First Sword of Braavos and the Sealord.”

_ A pact. The same pact that was supposed to be between Robert and Lyanna. Instead, it will be between Robert’s daughter and Ned Stark’s son. History has a way of rhyming, does it not? Hopefully, this does not lead to war. Or disaster.  _

“Let us speak of this so-called betrothal between...what is his name...Jon?” and Rhaegar looked over to Jon Arryn for confirmation and the lord nodded. “Jon Snow and Robert’s bastard daughter. I have no problem with it. Especially after the disaster that lead to the rebellion...I will not stand in the way.”

Jon Connington’s mouth spoke before his brain could stop it. “Unless Aegon decides to ride off with Mya Stone and Jon Snow rises in rebellion.”

That caught the attention of everyone in the chambers. Rhaegar looked at his Hand with cool, steely eyes, the purple dancing between madness and greatness. Ser Barristan was concentrating on a particularly interesting chair - _ my, what an interesting shade of brown-  _ while Jon Arryn and Paxter Redwyne traded glances with each other. Ser Kevan looked more amused than he had a right to be while Jon Connington at least had the grace to look guilty.

“Your grace, I apologize profusely for my comments. It slipped from my tongue,” Jon Connington said, almost tripping over himself to say his sorrows for the silver haired king. 

Rhaegar’s voice was barely a whisper, echoing across the silent room. “It’s...it is fine. An off-colored jape. A jape that no one will ever repeat in my presence, in the Red Keep, or in your minds. I made a mistake. A mistake that leads to the deaths of tens of thousands, the death of my own cousin, and the death of my wife, my child, and my lover. I am responsible for this realm’s divide and I must heal it. If I must be the butt of a jape in the middle of a Small Council meeting, then so be it.”

And then the silence was brought back. It was an uneasy silence, tension building, and building. Finally, Ser Kevan broke it with talk of finances. “Your grace, if I may, it’s time to speak of the cost of the wedding…”

Finally, after some time, the meeting was over and Ser Barristan retreated to the training yard, where Ser Jaime and Lady Cersei were conversing. He couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but his fellow brother in white wore an easy grin on his face and Cersei radiated with beauty.  _ She is beautiful. But not as beautiful as Ashara Dayne.  _

He greeted the two with a wave and a bow to the lady present, before retrieving a shield and a tourney sword. Most men wanted to train with live steel, but live steel was dangerous and could kill somebody. Most men were idiots, as his father had told him when he was just a boy, and that’s why master at arms conducted training.

“Good ser, if I may train against you?” and he saw Ser Jaime in his Kingsguard armor, a shield with the golden lion of Lannister painted in bright paint, the edges of red shining like the sun. 

“Of course, Ser Jaime,” Barristan granted, taking his sword in his hand. Ser Jaime had exchanged his golden sword for a tourney sword as well and the two began to circle each other.  _ He was trained by Gerold and Arthur but has never been in battle beside the skirmishes in the Kingswood.  _

But the eldest child of Tywin Lannister was a ferocious and talented fighter. He was also impatient and he showed it by striking first, a downward strike aimed at Barristan’s helm, which Barristan blocked with his shield. He decided to remain on the defensive, hunkering behind his shield as old Ser Hothar had once taught him years ago when he was but a young lad.

He could tell that Jaime was beginning to get impatient with his defense. The young knight drove him across the yard, striking up and down, well-aimed and well-timed. But each time the thick wood of the shield stopped him and Ser Barristan would drive him back easily. Flashy swordplay may win tourneys, but it was knowing when to hide behind something that won battles. 

Finally, the bout ended when Barristan spotted an opening. Jaime had been overexerting and overextending himself, using his youthfulness and better shape to try and beat Barristan’s stout defense. But Barristan had experience and when Ser Jaime finally made that mistake, he pounced on it.

“I yield good ser,” Ser Jaime said with a chuckle, the tip of the blunted sword at his neck. “A good fight. Worthy of the songs.”

Barristan returned the chuckle with one of his own, before withdrawing his sword from Jaime’s neck. “You’re a good fighter Ser Jaime and worthy of the white cloak,” he then turned to Lady Cersei, who had been watching with close attention. “My lady, your brother is formidable. Was he trained by you?”

He had heard many things of Cersei Lannister. Cruel, a temptress, fast to anger, were some of the rumors that drifted from Westerlands, spread by guards and servants. But others spoke of her great dedication to her family, especially her twin. A lioness that could measure up to the great Joanna, who had ruled her lord husband while he ruled the Westerlands. 

Her hair shone like gold, her eyes were as green as emeralds, her skin as smooth as the sea. She was beautiful, more beautiful than Elia and even Lyanna. Ashara would always be the most beautiful woman in his eyes, but he could see that the woman would catch eyes from the Wall to Dorne.  _ King Rhaegar might forget his wife and the lady Lyanna.  _ She was almost identical to Jaime, Ser Barristan observed, and in their youth, they must have been confused for one another. 

Cersei’s cheeks heated up and Ser Barristan silently congratulated himself for still being able to talk with the opposite sex despite his vows of chastity. 

“Ser Barristan, you wound me!” Ser Jaime jested. “My sweet sister has trained me in battle, tis true, but it was the blades of the Kingsguard that turned me into the swordsman I am today.”

Ser Barristan felt his hairs rise on the back of his neck as if someone was watching him. As Cersei and Jaime launched into another conversation, he turned to see Stannis overlooking the training yard.  _ He’s not as experienced as I am, but he knows how to fight. Every Baratheon, from Orys to him, have always been excellent fighters.  _

Ser Barristan wondered if anything frightened Stannis, who had been reduced to rats and boot leather for food while Mace Tyrell and houses of the Reach feasted every night. The man who had held Storm’s End because it was his  _ duty  _ to his brother. Another man stood next to him, a leather pouch around his neck, while Lord Caron was on his left. 

_ His lords might have some doubts about him, but the common man...I wonder what the common man thinks of their new Lord Paramount.  _

 

**THE STAG IN KING’S LANDING**

Stannis remembered the first time he had visited King’s Landing. 

He had just been a boy when Robert and he had clutched hands before being presented to the court. The man on the Iron Throne had been as fearsome as he had been noble. Stannis thought that man had been king.

He had been wrong. He wondered if Rhaegar would turn out like his father; a good king in the beginning, but a madman in the end.

_ As if you don’t have a right to believe he is a madman. The man who stole away your brother’s intended wife, the man whose armies besieged you for an entire year, reducing you to eating rats and almost your own dead. The man who killed your elder brother. Who took Renly from you and put them into the hands of the men who nearly starved you death,  _ a voice deep inside of him said. Another spoke back. 

_ Aye, you have a right to be angry. But he is your king. You must do your duty just like you did your duty to Robert. He could have sent you to the Wall, he could have beheaded you for treason. But he gave you a second chance,  _ the second voice argued. 

_ You don’t know Rhaegar. Give him a second chance.  _

The funeral had been a short and simple affair. Rhaella, in the end, was not one for fanciness over her death. Her sons were all solemn, her daughter quiet despite being named the Stormborn. Rhaegar had given a short eulogy, commending his mother for her strength and loyalty to his father, to House Targaryen.  

It was a good eulogy and to the point, just like how Stannis liked it. Rhaella had not been buried with Aerys though. She had been buried at sea after the ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor, as was her last wishes.  _ My father and mother were buried at sea as well, your grace. They didn’t request it and the Gods never heard their pleas to spare them from the storm.  _

The afternoon festivities, which could not be called festivities in Stannis’s mind, were quiet and respectful of the dearly departed. He was sitting with his marcher lords, Ser Davos Seaworth, his son Dale, and Lady Brienne. The two children were deep in conversation with each other about something, with the young Seaworth boy complaining about letters while Brienne was complaining about dresses. 

_ Children,  _ Stannis thought with some contempt. But then he remembered Renly, his brother who was entrapped in the roses of Highgarden.  _ The Tyrells will make him a rose and try to rule through him if I ever die and do not leave an heir.  _

And that brought him to the  _ real  _ reason he was in King’s Landing. 

He would never marry a Tyrell. Janna Tyrell was pretty enough, he supposed, but she was a Tyrell through and through. Her mother, Olenna Redwyne, was as sharp as a thorn herself, and the brief moments he had been in her company he was both amused and slightly taken back with how much disrespect she cast toward Mace Tyrell.  _ The fat oaf, she had called him. The Queen of Thrones indeed.  _

Selyse Florent, Gods forbid, was horrendous in both character and sight. Stannis never thought he was handsome; he was too tall, too skinny, and his hair was thinning already, most likely due to the effects of the siege. He had a large jutting jaw that Renly and Robert made fun of. 

But Selyse...she was as tall as him, with the Florent ears, and a  _ mustache  _ growing on her upper lip. She was also relentless and not in a good way. He would never marry her and would jump from Storm’s End highest point before even considering it. 

His mind went to darker thoughts.   _ I was a second son, meant to marry a bannerman’s second or third daughter. A keep on the edge of my brother’s lands that would be inherited by my own children. And now I am a part of the main course, to be fought over by opportunistic hands.  _

Other women had come forward as well. All of them from the Reach. He wondered why the king, that damned king of his, was dead set on him marrying a family that had been responsible for so much death and destruction in the Stormlands. 

“Damn that Dornish bastard is strong,” he heard Ser Donnel Swann swear in front of the children. Ser Davos sent him a strong glare, gesturing to Dale and Brienne sitting right beside them. The two children were deep in conversation however and were ignoring him. “He beat me and Ser Rolland Storm like we were nothing.”

“That’s because you’re both young,” old Lord Dondarrion responded. The man was in his forties, his son currently back in Blackhaven. “Ser Arthur Dayne has been fighting men for as long as the two of you have been alive. He’s the Sword in the Morning and would defeat any single man in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You will address him as Ser Arthur, Ser Donnel,” Stannis commanded. “He is an anointed knight, like you and Ser Rolland. He’s not a Dornish bastard, for his last name is Dayne, though I will concede that he is strong.”

The table went completely silent as Stannis ground his teeth.  _ Ser Arthur Dayne is an anointed knight of the Seven Kingdoms,  _ he wanted to yell at them. Silence dripped for a few tense moments before Ser Davos spoke, trying to break it.

“So, my lord, have you put any thought into your bride may be? Lady Janna is a beautiful woman and would make a good match, though I wouldn’t know since I’m married to a carpenter’s daughter,” Ser Davos asked. All heads immediately swiveled to Stannis once again. He started to grind his teeth again.  _ Thank you, Onion Knight.  _

“Lady Janna is an amiable lady, that is true. But she is a Tyrell. A member of the family whose forces besieged me for an entire year killed hundreds of my men, and starved me and my brother,” Stannis said with venom dripping in each word. “King Rhaegar has given me choice in the matter of my bride. Thorns are already growing in my brother, rooting themselves and poisoning his mind with sweet words and gifts. No rose will ever take root in Storm’s End.”

And that had been the end of that. The marcher lords continued to speak amongst themselves, Ser Davos had been given permission to visit Flea’s Bottom for whatever reasons he desired, and Dale Seaworth and Brienne of Tarth continued to converse, this time on the merits of reading.  _ Dale Seaworth and Brienne of Tarth...is there a match there? The Evenstar is not an old man and he could still sire another heir. Lady Brienne’s prospects are slim, for she is no great beauty.  _   
He would have to think about it more. But right now, he needed to get some fresh air. Being inside the Red Keep was nauseating, especially with the maids of the Reach staring at him like he was a piece of meat.  _ They do not like my looks, they only want my seat.  _

“Lord Caron, if you do not mind, would you look after the Seaworth boy and Lady Brienne?” he asked. 

“Of course, my lord.”

Stannis left the inside of the Red Keep, in order to walk the battlements. He had done so at Storm’s End, especially during the siege, when listening to Renly’s wailings and the bitter cries of ‘ _ where’s Robert!’  _ from his garrison would irritate him enough.  _ Fresh air, a cleared mind,  _ his father had told him when he had found him on the battlements of Storm’s End one night. 

He saw the banners of House Lannister and House Targaryen dancing in the night, fluttering slightly in the evening wind. The royal marriage would take place in a sennight at the Great Sept of Baelor, in front of the Gods that watched his mother and father die.  _ The same gods that took away Robert. The same gods that took Renly and placed them into the hands of the family that starved my people, killed my men, and nearly killed me.  _

“Fresh air?” an alluring sound and his hand went to his sword belt almost immediately. The voice was as smooth as silk as it continued to address him. “Please, my lord, I would never harm you.”

He turned to see one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid eyes upon. Violet eyes that haunted the night, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, and a dress that cut low. He recognized her; he had seen her speak to Ser Arthur in the training yard.  _ Lady Ashara Dayne _

“My lady,” he gritted out. He didn’t want to see anyone right now,  _ especially  _ a high-born woman.  _ The Florents, the Tyrells, the Redwynes, all of these houses that want to spread their influence into the Stormlands. _

_ “ _ My lord.”

There was silence for a few moments, silence that Stannis did not like. He just didn’t like being around women...or people in general. Most people wanted something from him or sought to hurt his family. Rhaegar came to mind.

“It’s a chilly night, my lady,” Stannis decided to say. What else was he supposed to do? It was a chilly night, with the wind biting deep into his clothing. His cloak protected him from the worst of it, the stag of House Baratheon keeping it on him. 

“It is. My brother used to tell me stories about how he would stay on the shores in nothing but his armor and sword, watching the waves come in and out,” Lady Ashara told him. “I always welcome a chill, however. Dorne is hot and miserable, especially during these long summers.”

Stannis had been to Dorne once before. His father had taken him and Robert to Sunspear, where he had seen Prince Doran and eaten the spicy foods of the Dornish culture.  _ It was hot and miserable, as Lady Ashara says.  _

“I will agree with you, my lady.”

Lady Ashara was quiet for a moment, her eyes staring into the sea. There, the Redwyne fleet, which had just been outside his ancestral home a few months ago, was on patrol or in the harbor. His heart raged at them, just like how storms raged at Storm’s End. 

“What are the Stormlands like this time of year? I’ve only been there for brief moments of time such as the Kingswood.”

_ Where you gave an outlaw a kiss, I heard,  _ a voice deep in his innermost thoughts said tauntingly. 

“The Stormlands are wet, wild, and full of rain this time of year. Storm’s End is attacked by storms year round, no matter if it is spring, summer, autumn, or winter,” Stannis said.  _ The storms that killed my father and mother.  _ “You can hear the tower being pounded like a drum.”

“Storm’s End, where Elenei protected Durran as he built the castle in defiance to the gods for wedding one of them,” Lady Ashara said softly. “Tell me, my lord, are you lonely there?”

_ What are you playing at woman?  _ He did not have time for Ashara Dayne’s tricks. The Baratheon fury was building and  _ fury burns.  _

Robert's fury was like a wild fire in the forest. It would burn quick and hot, before being smothered. He could not stay angry for long and soon he would return to his jovial state.  _ Summerhall, where I advised him to imprison the lords who rebelled against him. Instead, he made this his friends, making them drink to their own fallen banners.  _

Renly was a wave, washing over everything and everyone. His tantrums would last briefly, but they were destructive in nature. But Stannis’s...it was the storm reborn. Building and building until he unleashed it. 

“I do not know how this concerns you, my lady,” Stannis gritted out, not wanting to tell her anything.  _ She’s Dornish and I don’t know her.  _ “I do not know you. You do not know me.”

“I know your reputation,” she pointed out. “The man who starved inside his ancestral castle, holding it while his older brother warred and whored across Westeros for the woman he loved. A bore, a humorless and serious lord. The man who refused to dance with any women at the Tourney at Harrenhal.”

“And I know yours,” the words escaped him before he could put a stop to it. 

Ashara narrowed her eyes at him in defiance. “Do you, my lord?”

_ A woman who seduced Brandon Stark. A woman with a daughter and remains unmarried.  _ “A woman that half the realm was in love with, who made Elia Martell look like a kitchen cook. The woman who bears the Wild Wolf’s daughter. A daughter who is named after the Princess of Dorne who defied and mocked Aegon the Conqueror.”

“And what do you think of the fact that I bore the child of a betrothed man? A bastard daughter whose name should be Sand instead of Dayne? How about my shame?” she questioned him.  _ What does she mean?  _ He had no patience for these games, but the question was intriguing, he had to admit. 

_ Brandon Stark knew that he was betrothed and he dishonored Lady Catelyn when he bedded Ashara Dayne.  _ But the action of...lying with another was a two-way street. Ashara Dayne had willingly gone to bed with Brandon Stark.  _ Eddard Stark, Brandon Stark, and more wanted her.  _

“You and he share equal blame for it, my lady,” he honestly told her. Her eyes widen in surprise. Why? It was the truth. “Brandon Stark should have never pursued you, for he was a man betrothed to another woman. You should have never consented to it because you knew he was betrothed. But you weren’t betrothed and I do admit ignorance on how the Dornish see marital relations.”

She was once more silent and a slight shiver went down her spine, he could see. The wind was getting to her. Without a second thought, he unclasped his cloak and put it around her, the stag bearing its eyes at him.  _ Don’t look at me like that.  _ Her eyes widen again and he scowled.  _ I have done this for Renly many times. _

“Thank you, my lord,” she said genuinely, Stannis could tell. She shifted slightly on her feet. “You hold me and Brandon accountable, despite what the court whispers?”

“The court whispers about everything. They would whisper about the content of the king’s chamber pot if they could,” Stannis said. Ashara stifled a giggle and Stannis raised an uneasy brow. “You’re not a witch, you’re not some sorceress who convinced Brandon with black magic to forsake his honor. Both of you decided to...engage in premarital relations. Both of you are at fault. It’s simple.”

“The rest of Westeros did not see it that way. They see Meria and they look at me as a Dornish witch who lured Brandon Stark from his betrothed. They see him as a wild man, but a wild man with honor. He was a Stark, was he not? The Starks are supposed to be honorable, not going to bed with Dornish beauties,” She then laughed bitterly. “They say Jon Snow is Dornish. Some thought he was mine, simply because I danced with Ned Stark at Harrenhal. Another honorable Stark with a bastard.”

Jon Snow was a subject for another time.  _ I mean to betroth Mya to him, ask the king to legitimize the boy and I will give him a keep in the Stormlands. If Lord Eddard agrees anyway.  _

_ “ _ My brother was supposed to marry Lyanna Stark, but instead she ran off with our illustrious king and died in a tower. My brother died believing that she had been kidnapped. He left behind bastards, one of whom I am raising,” Stannis informed her. She nodded, most likely knowing that. “A bastard is a symbol of sin and lust, the septons say. And yet when I see Mya, all I see is what Robert was. Is.”  _ A strong man, a man who accuses me in my dreams of abandoning him for Rhaegar.  _

_ And those eyes.  _

Lady Ashara looked at him with those haunting violet eyes, eyes that seemed to bore into him.  _ Was this what Brandon Stark saw to dishonor himself? Was there some Dornish girl that Lord Eddard saw at Harrenhal that would cause him to dishonor his marriage vows in the Rebellion?  _ Those eyes. 

“Meria is more than just the sum of her parents’s mistakes,” she said fiercely. “She is my daughter, my blood. She will grow to be a beautiful woman, to make her way into this world.”

“No doubt, for you are her mother. Robert spoke of your beauty at Harrenhal, though he also said that no woman could compare to the Lady Lyanna,” he said and he could see the faint hints of a blush appear on Ashara’s face.  _ Lady Ashara,  _ he reminded himself. “I disagreed with him on the matter of beauty.”

“Oh, did you?” she said, taking a step closer to him. “What else did you disagree with him on?”

_ The rebellion. Having bastards. All kinds of things, my lady.  _

_ “ _ When Robert rebelled, it was the hardest decision of my life. King Aerys ruled by every law of Westeros and he was the rightful king. But there are older and deeper laws that are unwritten. The younger bows before the elder,” Stannis said, remembering his argument with Robert.  _ “ _ I argued with Robert that despite the Mad King being mad, he was still king. But Aerys had burned Rickard Stark and looked on as Brandon Stark strangled himself to death. Called for the deaths of Eddard Stark and my own brother. I chose blood over honor and if Robert rebelled again, knowing what I know now...I would still follow him.”

Stannis started to grind his teeth again. “But now Robert is dead and I am Lord of Storm’s End. My brother Renly is being raised by the same men who tried to kill him, men who will whisper in his ear and poison his mind. Mace Tyrell means to either rule through Renly if I die without issue or rule through his grandchild if I marry his thrice-damned sister.”

The bitterness in his tone could not be missed.  _ I will not allow my brother to be a Tyrell in all but name. But I can’t do anything about it, can I?  _

“You’re an interesting man, Lord Stannis. A very interesting man.”

“And you are as vexing as you are beautiful,” Stannis said without thinking. When Lady Ashara blushed, he walked away.  _ Why?  _

She called out after him but he ignored her.  _ Run away Stannis, like you did with me,  _ Robert’s voice said in his mind. 

_ Run away.  _

**Author's Note:**

> So this was a fic that I started a year ago and deleted. But I have been reading some alternative Rhaegar lives fic and decided to do this one. I will continue to work on the others, but this one currently has my undivided attention. I really can't stick with one story, can't I?


End file.
